


The House Set Fire

by cara marie (genusshrike)



Category: Books of Magick
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-07
Updated: 2011-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-15 11:38:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genusshrike/pseuds/cara%20marie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another day, another someone thinks they can use Tim for their own purposes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The House Set Fire

Tim could never have said how it was Raewyn had picked him. They'd met at a club: the dancing kind, not the magic underworld kind. Raewyn had looked like any other indy girl: cute fringe, cute dress. But she'd had a wicked smile, and they'd danced and she'd kissed him, and invited him home.

She must have recognised him somehow; Tim didn't like to think that someone had set her on him, but that was what Brewster thought. Tim had just thought he was getting lucky.

Tim couldn't even get fucked without someone trying to screw him over.

He'd woken feeling fuzzy and content, opening his eyes to see Raewyn up already, putting on earrings. He sat up and she said, "You can't leave the house, I'm afraid." She smiled. "There's food in the pantry, I'm sure you can figure out where everything is."

"What do you mean I can't leave? Where are you going?"

"I mean, I'm keeping you." Raewyn came over and ran her fingers along his jaw. "You won't mind." She bent over to kiss him. He was caught up in it, the way she pushed herself against him, and he tried to drag her closer. She tutted her tongue. "I'll see you later."

He frowned, losing his hazy feeling. "I don't think that's how this works," he said. "I have to go."

"You're not going anywhere."

He could feel it then: the walls of the house a cage around him. He looked at her, and there was a glee lit in her eyes. "I'll see you," she said, and kissed his cheek.

"No, you won't," Tim said. She watched as he dressed, her smile lascivious. It became a smirk as she followed him through the house and he came to the door.

Later, he would tell Brewster it was like the paradox where to get anywhere, you always have to pass the halfway point. There are always an infinite number of halfways, and you never reach your destination. It had always seemed stupid to him, but that was what it was like, like trying to reach an asymptote. He couldn't get out.

He turned back to her, not sure what he was going to do; she gave a toothy smile and walked out past him. "I'll see you tonight," she said, walking backwards down the path. "If you could have something ready round seven?"

Then she turned and was off.

The door wouldn't let him through, no matter what he told it. He could open the windows, but he couldn't leave through them. He could feel the house's smug satisfaction all around.

The upstairs windows were no good either. His cellphone was gone, and he couldn't remember anybody's numbers except 999, and somehow he thought emergency services weren't going to help here.

Around ten, he decided fuck it, and made himself breakfast. He used her bacon, and her free-range eggs, and her garlic-infused olive oil, and tall that fancy food didn't make him feel any better.

There must be something keeping him here, he thought. He left the dishes in the sink and began to stalk through the house. He pulled out all her drawers and rifled through her closet. No magic. No lock of his hair in a hex-bag, no poppets, not even any candles. Just floral prints and crocheted edging.

He was getting nowhere. He'd put a dent in the wall throwing one of her drawers, and it hadn't made him feel any less caged. Better to wait and confront the witch himself.

In the afternoon, he raided her drinks cabinet. Got himself into an unpleasant stupor, laid on her bed and dozed, because fuck if he could help himself.

There was a rapping on the window. Tim rolled his head into the pillow and wished it gone, but it stayed, insistent. After a long few seconds he lifted his head and saw Yo-Yo there. The owl it stilled and stared.

Of course Brewster would have found him. Probably known where he was all along. Tim went to open the window.

The house had no trouble letting things in. Tim could feel how unimpressed Yo-Yo was. When it was Brewster standing there, he only reinforced that, saying, "You stink of sex and booze. What the fuck are you doing?"

"Can't get out," Tim said. He went back to the window to demonstrate.

Brewster came over, not to look at the window, but getting way close up against his back, his breath against Tim's neck. "I don't think now's the time–" Tim said.

Brewster said, "She's marked you."

That freaked him out. "What is it? Let me see." Brewster followed him to the mirror, and Tim demanded of it, "Show me."

The mirror responded. That in itself was a relief, that she hadn't taken his power as well. Brewster traced the outline of the sigil on his neck as Tim stared.

"It's the house," Brewster said. "It binds you to it." He looked hard at Tim. "How'd she get that on you without you noticing?"

"I think we should be more concerned with getting it off." Tim reached up, grabbed Brewster's hand. Brewster look amused at Tim's panic.

"Well, that's nothing you've never done before."

"That was different," Tim said, his eyes wide. "Fuck. Okay." He let Brewster take his hand back.

How had it worked last time? Dreams. Magic. He didn't think using the opening as a metaphor would work here. He went and he sat back down on her bed and he tried, tried to get a sense of the house and its hold on him.

Nothing. He sat there with Brewster cross-armed against her dresser, until he heard the sound of the door opening downstairs, Raewyn calling his name. He didn't move. Yo-Yo sat up the top of her wardrobe, watching.

Raewyn frowned when she found him. "What've you done?" she said, as she took in the devastation. She pursed her lips and set to tidying. She slammed the drawers back in her dresser "I asked you to help, not mess things up."

"Why would I want todo that?" Tim said. "I don't even know why you're keeping me here." He stood up.

So did she. "Because I can," she said. "I can chain the world's greatest magician and keep him here, so why shouldn't I?" Her bottom lip jutted out. "Don't take it so hard."

"Raewyn," he said. She held her chin high. "You shouldn't have marked me. Let me go."

"No," she said. "You'll accept this. You'll even love it."

Tim smiled grimly, and he had it then, he had the key.

And he opened the house around then.

Like that, it was gone. Open to the universe, to starlight and plasma, to the abyss, a gaping hole that Tim sealed up behind them. As Tim set them down in her yard, Raewyn's eyes went very wide, and he saw her grow afraid.

"What am I to do with you?" he asked.

Raewyn had worked her magic in stealth. Now Tim was wide awake. She chose to run.

Maybe it was the tattoo's reminder of Circe. She chose to run, so he made her a rabbit. Watched her go. When Brewster was beside him again, Tim began walking. "Someone may pick her up," Tim said.

"Or she gets hit by a car." He could feel Brewster's searching gaze.

"If it happens, it happens," Tim said. "I won't be sorry." His hand went to his neck; he looked over at Brewster. "Is it still there?"

"Yes."

Tim closed his eyes. "Fuck. I'll have to get it done over." He met Brewster's eyes and let himself give the corner of a smile. "Or leave it. As a reminder."

"Not to go home with strange women," Brewster said.

"Just going home will do," Tim said.

And like that, they walked in the door, to the place he'd chosen. A place where the bindings were voluntary.

 


End file.
